


The Fallen God

by kuugeki (strangestirony)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crowley Didn't Fall (Good Omens), Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, Not really... ;3, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Short, like short chapters bro
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangestirony/pseuds/kuugeki
Summary: And it seemed like the sky had ruptured and one of it's stars had fell from it's grasp--like a greedy man's grip on his jewels that had finally slipped and faltered. The star had landed and had taken the shape of men, yet seeming not as earthly. Soon, the people had taken to reffering this ethereal being as the Fallen One; the fallen god which had strayed from it's home upon the skies.
Kudos: 33





	1. The Falling God

His name was Raphael, Healer of the Lord. An Archangel that crafted suns and stars with the touch of his fingers—with stardust in his would-be lungs and wonder instilled into his being. His name was Raphael and he was an Archangel of God.

His name now is Crowley, neither demon or angel. Neither ethereal nor blasphemous. He is Crowley, an angel no more, and he wanders the Earth as the Fallen God.

_(I'm not a God.)_

* * *

**THE FALLEN GOD**  
**[PROLOGUE]**

* * *

It happens like this:

On one night, with unsuspecting and sudden warm breeze that makes all of the people congregate outside. Where torches had been placed out and lit, where children had played with the warm light of the flames reflected in their bright eyes. Everything was right for once, until it had seemed like the skies above had ruptured and one of it's many stars had fell from it's grasp—like a greedy man's grip on his jewels had finally slipped and faltered.

The star rocketed down in a brilliant flash of light, flaring with flames as it entered the atmosphere and crashed in the forest next to the people's lands. The people were believers of the supernatural, of Gods _,_ of demons, of those that stood over them and had gifted them with rewards and those below that had dragged them down with their misgivings. They had quickly fled to the forest, in frantic search of the fallen star, so far away from it's home from above.

The star itself which had landed, had taken the shape of men—twisting and adapting, yet it had seemed not as earthly, not as mortal. Not as natural.

It— _he_ was not as clothed, just like the humans which had him, but his skin was unnaturally pale, smooth, unmarred. On his back were two scorched wings, _burningburningburning—_

_(Why have you forsaken me in such way, Father?)_

His eyes, a bright gold, were set ablaze, just like the flames which circled his descent down to the mortal realm. His pupils not as mortal as the people before him, thinning into slits, seemingly angry, yet his expression was clear.

This being, with it— _his_ scorched wings, _unnatural_ , and his unearthly gaze had been christened by the people as the Fallen One; the stray god which had strayed from it's home upon the skies.

* * *

**THE FALLEN GOD**

* * *

To fall is to be abandoned. To be given up on, to stray and to go against their machination. God, who had molded them in his own liking and showered upon them with lavish love and absolute adoration, only to shun them, to contempt them. God, who had created _him_ , to heal, to help, to love, to _protect_ , only to throw him away once he tried to do all of those.

_(When you said that you were going to test them... I didn't think that you were going to test them to destruction!)_

God who has left him with the memories of _what was_ , the taste lingering on his new tongue like the sweetest of apples; tantalizing and forever gone. God, who has burned his wings into oblivion like the rest of the fallen—

_(Those that had forgotten. With hatred in the hearts and war in the soul. Forever forgetting, forever stuck with the empty, vast void now embedded into their being. Without stop, with no way to fill it to completion. Only to continue to devour.)_

No longer able to fly home. No longer able to be up in the sky, in space, with the stars that sang his name and the suns that burst with brilliance.

He stares up at the vacant sky. Wordless, grim, resigned.

_(The stars no longer speaks to me.)_

He is alone. One of a kind. A fallen who has not truly fallen, a being stuck in the middle of Heaven and Hell. An angel, and yet not. A demon, but not quite. 

Here, the stray star stands, forsaken and alone. Neither demon or angel.

The Fallen God. 

* * *

**THE FALLEN GOD**  
**[PROLOGUE END]**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crying “what am i doing” as i type*


	2. The Hopeless God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Not beta-read.)

"I was not created to be an angel of _war_ , brother." Raphael had clearly hissed out, frustrated _hurtangerfearpain_ beyond belief. "I am a _healer_. I nurture and protect, I do not _harm_."

Michael had looked outraged, as he had come to look in the recent times. Samael's platoons, while small with how low the number of converts were, had struck concisely and viciously at the soldiers that Heaven had sent out. They weren't losing per say, but they were not losing either. Just, stuck. 

"Our angels are _dying_. They aren't being discorporated, they're being _killed!_ " Michael stated, tense.

"You can't save everybody, Raphael."

"I have to try."

_(Otherwise, what is the point of me?)_

* * *

**THE FALLEN GOD**   
**[ONE]**

* * *

Heaven's treatment centers are overrun with angels that have been touched by the flames of the Below. Their souls scarred and beings scorching to touch. The angels that Raphael has taught, the younglings under his care stretched thin to compensate for the amount of damage that Samael has done to their young ones.

_(It hurts.)_

By now, Raphael's being ached. It was rather similar to the sensation of an overworked body; exhausted, heavy. Rather it being a mild inconvenience, able to heal in due time—it was the stress of having your little siblings being slaughtered by your older brother, who you've looked up to since the time of your creation. It hurts like the largest and fastest of bullets to a human, but Raphael pushes it aside.

He ignores the faint want of the cosmos. The dark void light with the might of thousands of young and old stars alike. The wonder of the space that had started to become filled with planets and moons. The bright suns that brung life unlike the ones that Raphael had molded into creation.

_(The peaceful humming of the stars. The warmth of the many suns, it's golden hues illuminating space.)_

"Archangel Raphael."

"Rihael," Raphael greeted neutrally as his golden eyes had pierced straight at the doors to the Throne of God, where their creator lies, above his children's mere squabbles and griefs.

Detached and cold. Silent.

He hesitates.

"You have business with Father?"

"I... No, never mind. Excuse me."

* * *

**THE FALLEN GOD**

* * *

War, a disease—an idea which would come into form, into being much later, had plagued both angels, their counterparts and the mortals which they had guarded over, who they had looked down upon so zealously. It's deep and red, dyed with the colors of the blood of humans, of anger and of love, or nothing at all—the wisps of _everything_ a being so... _condensed—everything_ and nothing that had been shaped and molded, a soul that was above, _supernatural_ ; ethereal—as it had been deconstructed until nothing was left, but particles.

It was like a god and those that fell to it's clutches it's supporters. More blood is offered in the cycle, more hatred, more bodies, more death.

Those that had killed will slight the remains of those that they had killed. Those tied to the killed will turn on the killer and become one themselves and thus the cycle continues. Conflict is left unsolved in the wake of death and murder, breeding more conflict which will fuel the flames that _roared_ for blood _bloodfightdeath—_

_(I don't want to fight. I am a healer!)_

Raphael wonders if it would all stop if Samael wins. If the skies, Heaven littered with the remains of scattered and destroyed souls of angels and deviants alike. Angels didn't bleed and their traitor counterparts didn't either.

He wonders if that matters.

_(It doesn't.)_

Samael will not win anyways. In the end, his resistance is futile to the might of their Creator's power. Something inside of him bubbles, his brows scrunch and his lips are pulled into a frown. His golden eyes dim and darken with the thought.

No matter how brightly Samael shines, no matter how many followers he gathers, no matter how many angels die, no matter how many of the converts drop, no matter—

In the end, it doesn't matter.

The might of an angel, or Archangel for that matter, does not measure of to the might of God themselves. No matter how _alike_ the likeness of angels to God were when they were constructed, the difference was large. They were tiny little things compared to such a large and even ineffable being.

Raphael would know. Being a creator, bringing life and thoughts, cognition, ideas with the tips of his fingers. Bringing _everythingnothing, lifedeathangersadnesspain—_

His clears his expression. Even if his grace and essence is tense, like a stretched rubber-band ready to _snap_ , and break and unravel into little, flimsy pieces of rubber.

Raphael doesn't fight. He heals, just as he was created to do, just as he wants to do. And then, he flees.

Because in the wake of death and war, of the want to _hurthurthurt,_ to make existence _bleed_ and for beings to _cry_ , for Death to make his entrance, guiding their brothers and sisters into the unforgiving belly of _nothingness—_

 _—_ there was no need for a healer.

* * *

**THE FALLEN GOD**   
**[ONE END.]**

* * *


End file.
